How to say the simplest
thing is merely to say it: Love is loves reward.
I used to ask; “why
me?” Echoing back a faint sound answers ‘why not.’
Want not.
What more could I ever
ask for?
I awoke with Ginger’s
head asleep upon my right hand, covers kicked back, windows open at
02:00 or thereabouts. The visions of versions of love mine alone
since they were as innocent as Ginger’s love. Ginger is a,
approximately forty pound dog of uncertain origin. One of the few
elect from a pack of several, perhaps, I sense many extending back
across Pam’s life protected and loves as I am and she beside me
having at that last gasp between awake and sleep I asked that she
never leave me . . . then blessed sleep within which this dream,
these visions, and finally, first and last, I knew myself loved and
safe.
It is true of me, I am
incapable of reading aloud 1 Corinthians 13 without my voice breaking
tear streaming and the feeling I’d fall to my knees or face down .
. . instead I write and still cry attempting to say what love is
actually.
Maybe now, marginally,
nominally, better able to describe what it, love, is.
Love is everywhere,
Love is everything, Love is ALL.
Love is what we all
seek having a genius for it within.
Obvious.
Only now.
Love has no fear of
anything.
My customary
methodology has malfunctioned. At least insofar as my desired
expectations. Instead it leads me farther, deeper into the swiftly
moving river of concern and care for all of us expressed by others .
. . always careful of what I ingest except, of course, for cigarettes
and coffee . . . my physical ecology being a shambles.
As with M, so with P,
both are difficult for me to define definitively. Either for or
about. Yet there is about ‘us’ collectively: a sense we have
shared separately savage grief and suffering. Then, touched by grace,
been healed.
Oddly, flashing as
explosive, a dawn unexpected, I saw the sense it might have been
mom’s intention to make of me the father she’d never had. There
is, at the moment, a similar component to my love for Pam or M
equally for them as my children, my parents, my lovers;
multidimensional—other—in all respects. Yet equal and innocent in
that love lives between us. Above all gender difference.
There seems, at least
to me, for now, a host of potential beyond all understanding within
each and all of us. A vastness knowable as extant but unmeasurable
and frustrating for me to attempt the expression of or description.
Yet the attempt impossible as it may be worth everything I can give
to it . . . a process seamless as a whole fabric being woven and we
all within it related. There is no “Law” of love save in my
sense, so far, for now, that we must be ourselves: unique as created
and/or evolved . . . always pushing the envelope of our aware
understanding, experience, expectations. Education never ceases.
130529 23:26
At the end of one thing
another is announced. It seems I’ve lost track of the energy
contained above. Had I awoken just now at the airport I’d just go
back wondering had the whole thing been just a dream? But at that I
wonder what happened in those secrets whispered the terror of two
children facing the unknown/unknowable together siblings . . . and
then thought how could I say goodby to myself?
Looking at now, looking
forward, I don’t want to look or go back to what was then waiting
to die. New England in Spring is riotously fecund. Especially here in
St. Johnsbury, VT: the mists, rivers, rain, cold become lucid then
ideal. Today I realized God is much this place as all places, in me
and all of us equally, only not recognized. Actual, not ideal or
idol.
And I will stay
sacrificing all except Annie that which was me back there. For here I
am better something else more. Love no longer a stranger to me.
To close. There is that
which we can change and that which we cannot. To know the difference
is to be more human than inhumane; more for life, as experienced and
lived by all, versus all life beaten into unreality. Love creates
while the opposite, indifference, breeds death.
130529 EDT 0212 loving
love
© 2013 by Jack Spratt—All
Rights Reserved
